


40.6959° N, 73.9956° W

by providing_leverage



Series: 40.6959° N, 73.9956° W [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Consol Alec Lightwood, M/M, Mundane's know about Downwolders, Soulmates, because that made more sense than Inquisitor for this, or so they think, shadowhunters have soulmarks, the Shadowhunters are just legends, the Shadowhunters are recluses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providing_leverage/pseuds/providing_leverage
Summary: Magnus had seen so few, but they were all the same. Tall and proud and beautiful. Dressed in black leather armor, massive wings making them seem bigger than they already were. They also seemed to have a thing about sleeves, preferring to leave their arms bare. Showing off their black runes and bright, colorful soul marks.Always so heavily armed, always so cold and closed off.Lonely, Magnus has always thought. Shut off in their Institutes, except to prowl the nights. He's always thought their lifelessness was because they spend too much time obsessing over their angelic heritage to remember they're half human, to explore that part of them.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: 40.6959° N, 73.9956° W [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701517
Comments: 11
Kudos: 241





	40.6959° N, 73.9956° W

Runes.

Knowledge.

Wings.

Immortality.

Soulmates.

Those were the gifts Raziel gave to his chosen ones, his nephilim, the  _ Shadowhunters.  _ The first several to help in their quest to guard the humans. The last one as a gift, a thank you for sacrificing their whole lives and the lives of their descendants to a quest that would likely never end.

Also extreme beauty, judging from all the ones Magnus had met in his four hundred (or so) years on Earth. The nephilim rarely interacted with his kind, or with anyone other than themselves. He'd only seen a few dozen from a distance ever, could count on one hand the number he'd talked to.

Unless the downworlders hurt one of their precious mundanes somehow, the children of the angel pretended the spawn of their mortal enemies didn't exist. 

Magnus had seen so few, but they were all the same. Tall and proud and beautiful. Dressed in black leather armor, massive wings making them seem bigger than they already were. They also seemed to have a thing about sleeves, preferring to leave their arms bare. Showing off their black runes and bright, colorful soul marks.

Always so heavily armed, always so cold and closed off.

Lonely, Magnus has always thought. Shut off in their Institutes, except to prowl the nights. He's always thought their lifelessness was because they spend too much time obsessing over their angelic heritage to remember they're half human, to explore that part of them.

Not like the downworld. They've always been in touch with both parts of themselves, once blending into the mundane world and pretending to be a part of it.

That ruse is long over, which really only brought them closer to their humanity. Now they no longer have to hide what they are, and can celebrate all of who they are openly and without fear.

Magnus pitties the nephilim sometimes. When he bothers to remember that they exist at all.

\---

When his alarm sounds at eight am, Magnus does not immediately get out of bed after silencing it. He lets himself roll over and enjoy the warmth of his sheets for a few minutes longer. But eventually he does rise, wrap up in a blue silk robe, and fling his ornate curtains open.

Weak January sunlight spills in. Magnus tips his head back and takes in his city, the magnificent view part of the reason he'd bought the place.

Sadly, he has a client in an hour and a half, so he can't watch all day. He eats, showers, spends ten minutes picking an outfit, then applies his makeup.

His first client of the day is a mundane woman who ran across his website and came to see about a potion or charm to help with her vivid nightmares, which she has not been able to get rid of with medicine or therapy. She's brought along her ten year old son, who watches Magnus with a look of pure awe the whole time.

Funny how the whole mundane world has known of the downworld for nearly 150 years, and yet still don't seem to believe it some days. 

The governments had freaked out and made rules and regulations that the Downworlders followed as they pleased. There were groups of extremists that popped up, arguing for their extinction, small and never lasting long. But for the most part, everything remained the same, except in the ways the world was better.

Aggravated by what they saw as an invasion of privacy and the lack of fun messing with humans became, the fae slunk silently back to their own pockets of the world, rarely heard from. 

Warlock's soon became even richer, constantly sought out by new clients in need of magic cure alls. Not as effective as they dreamed, but enough to keep them coming back time and time again.

Finding a steady food source became easier than ever for the children of the night, as was operating in a world dominated by and revolving around the living. Humans lined up around the block at bleeder dens, which were heavily monitored by their own governments and more subtly by the nephilim.

Werewolves weren't affected by the revelation in any truly significant way, and for the most part went on with their lives as normal.

But the children of the angel? They were the least touched. They remained in their glamored Institutes, and their hidden home country. They were myths in a world of true legends. A cross between the Loch Ness monster and Santa Claus.

_ Winged warriors of the night,  _ mundane parents told their kids, not because they believed, but because that's what  _ they _ had been told as children.  _ They hunt demons and otherworldly threats to humankind, but don't like to be seen. So go to sleep or they can't come and make sure there are no monsters under your bed. _

Just for fun, Magnus winks one cat eye at the boy, and lets a few blue sparks fall from his fingers. Then he sends them on their way, the woman with a dream catcher charm and a bit less money, the boy with a brilliant smile and story to tell his friends.

Magnus then brews himself a coffee and flips through the latest warlock journal, finishing an article on the manipulation of one's own body. He has no intentions of altering his body, with or without magic, but it's still an interesting read.

At ten fifteen, he gets an alert on his phone telling him his next appointment is in five minutes. It had been arranged online, not over the phone, so he the only information he knew was to expect a man named Luke Solo, who had marked  _ consultation. _ Meaning it would likely not require any magic, just a conversation, letting Luke know what or if Magnus could help him, for only a small price. 

He does a double take when he sees the time frame scheduled. This Luke had booked Magnus for two hours.  _ A typo, surely. Or a misclick on Luke's part,  _ he concludes, downing the last of his coffee right as the doorbell rings.

Magnus flings the door open with his usual amount of over dramatics. "Magnus Bane, magic master for hire- oh Lilith." he cuts off his usual spiel for first time clients when he sees who exactly is at his door.

One of the nephilim, tall and beautiful as they always are. Inky hair and equally dark wings tucked loosely against his back. 

"You are most certainly not Luke Solo," Magnus decides to say, because his brain isn't quite working right now. Possibly because of the sudden proximity to a person radiating power and angelic magic, but it's also equally likely because of the sudden proximity to such a gorgeous person.

"Not exactly," the man says with a little smile, a bit shy but not unsure, "My name is Alexander Lightwood. But I did make an appointment."

\--

Alexander-who tells Magnus to call him Alec- looks very awkward and less threatening in a fluffy armchair.

When Magnus had first moved back to New York twenty years ago, he'd decided not to buy or rent another place to do business. So now he worked out of what was intended as the living room. He'd lined the walls with shelves stocked with old books and potion ingredients (the really valuable and dangerous stuff was locked in his office). He'd also bought a wooden table with ornate chairs, a couch, and the matching set of armchairs.

The table was where he did card readings and made charms and spells, and the other seats where he did everything else, so out of habit he directed Alexander there. 

"I have a stool somewhere, if you'd rather sit there." He offers after a few moments of watching Alexander try and sit comfortably with his wings.

"No, no. I got this." After a few more moments of shifting, Alexander decides he doesn't actually  _ got this  _ and gets up to move one of the chairs from the table over so that he's facing Magnus, who's in his own armchair. He flips it around and sits so that his massive wings have room to spread out a bit. The back of the chair, now the front, is just the right height that he can brace his arms on it. "That's much better."

Good, because Magnus hadn't actually been sure he had a stool somewhere in his loft. A few decades ago, he could have just snapped his fingers and summoned one from the furniture store a few miles from here. But then mortals got wise to warlocks habit of doing this, and began to hire warlocks of their own to ward their places against such magical theft.

"So, Alexander Lightwood. What is so urgent that you break your people's notorious reclusiveness and make an appointment with a warlock? Under a fake name no less?" Magnus makes sure he looks relaxed and regal, legs crossed and arms laying lightly on the armrests, but he can't keep the curiosity from his voice.

Alec signs and runs a hand through his already messy hair. "It's actually my people's 'notorious reclusiveness' that I'm here to talk to you about. Also, I think you might be my romantic soulmate, but that's not really relevant right now."

For perhaps the first time in his long life, Magnus is glad he doesn't have a strong drink in his hand, because he most certainly would have chicken on it. "Um, I think that does sound relevant, please tell me more." he says in a strangled kind of way.

Alec gives him a look like,  _ you are very silly and easily distracted but I think you're cute so I'll humor you,  _ and holds out his left arm, palm up.

Inches from his wrist is a golden slit pupil eye, identical to Magnus' warlock mark. It even has black eyeliner in the style Magnus had recently taken a liking to, called smudged. Written along the curve of the eye on top and bottom is a set of coordinates.  _ 40.6959° N, 73.9956° W _

"It's been a while since I looked them up to see where they exact location is, but I remember they were somewhere in Brooklyn." Alec admits. "I didn't even think about it until I saw your eyes."

"...and the weird tattoo of my eye and the coordinates of my home means we're soulmates?" Magnus tries hard to keep the tone level.

" _ Romantic  _ soulmates," Alexander stresses. "The mark is on my left arm. If it was in the same place on my right arm, you would be my platonic soulmate." He extends his right arm to show off the place where he actually does have a mark.  _ Woah, same side!  _ written in loopy silver cursive. 

"Those were the first words Jace ever said to me." Alec says fondly. "I have more soulmarks, for my siblings and mom, but I didn't come here to talk about that."

"Of course." Magnus says. "Then what exactly did you come to see me about?"

Alec straightens, crossing his arms once again, making him appear more professional. "The truth is, I signed up under a fake name because I was afraid you'd recognize my last name. It's an old Shadowhunter name, very famous. A lot of leaders come from my bloodline, including myself.

"I'm not sure how much you would know about our governing system, but the nephilim are run by the Clave our council of elected leaders and often the heads if Institutes. Our Inquisitor oversees internal affairs and is the second most powerful voice. The first is the elected Consol, who oversees the Clave and makes a lot of the final decisions. Three months ago our old Consol died and I was elected."

"Congratulations." feels like the appropriate response. _ My soulmate is the highest ranking half angel out there. Because this wasn't strange enough as it was. _

"Thank you. There were some reservations as I'm so young, but there weren't really a lot of other options." Alec hesitates. "I know that Mundanes know very little of our existence and ways, and I'm not sure how close of tabs the downworld keeps on us."

"Not very close," Magnus offers. 

"Our numbers have been shrinking over the centuries. Strict cultural beliefs tells us having children with anyone but our romantic soulmate is taboo and bad luck, and even with some finding their soulmates among Mundanes who then undergo a Trial and drink from the mortal cup to become nephilim we are eventually going to die out."

"That's... certainly concerning." Magnus admits. And it is, the thought of a world without warriors to kill most of the demon's who slip through the veil. "But I'm not sure how I can help."

"I believe that the key to our survival, and the survival of the world as we know it, lies in us coming out of the shadows. Remembering that there is a world out there that is more than dark streets and blood. Mixing with the world. I've studied the cultural revival of your people in the years since the mundane world learned for sure of your existence."

For a record of the second time in one day, Magnus is glad he hadn't decided to pour himself a drink, as he certainly would have choked again. "You-you want to bring the Shadowhunters into the light?"

Alec's eyes light up. "Yes! And use the  _ Shadowhunter  _ title more than nephilim. Rebrand sort of. And we wouldn't immediately jump right into telling the Mundanes. I was thinking more, open lines of communication with the leaders of the downworld and work our way up to walking around with our wings unglamored like warlocks do with their marks."

"That's... quite the goal." Magnus can already picture how the humans will react, probably more positively to the Shadowhunter's than they did the downworlders, but much quicker now. The internet and television making nothing a secret, not to mention the tenser political climate. 

The other man nods. "I'm aware. I barely had the votes to pass the rough draft of this plan, which will of course have to be adapted as we go. But my generation agrees that something has to be done, and even the older ones who are more set in their ways know that some changes have to be made."

Magnus sits back in his chair and just...absorbs all of this. Thankfully he has no more clients scheduled today, and will probably cancel walk in hours for the day. Soulmates, political upheaval, it's too much for a Tuesday. "I'm assuming you came to me because of my connections to the downworld leaders in this city."

"You were certainly the easiest leader here to reach, and seemed to be the most valuable to ally myself with."

Right. Magnus sometimes forgets he's technically the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Unlike the werewolves and vampires, warlocks are a lot more spread out. They aren't naturally drawn together, and have the smallest population of any downworld group. Since the Spiral Labyrinth burned down, they're even less connected than they used to be.

High Warlock is little more than a formality, and Magnus' people are more likely to fight things out among themselves than take an issue to a 'superior' warlock.

"So...you want me to help you approach the other leaders of New York and establish an alliance like thing? Eventually spread this alliance through the whole Shadow World with a long term goal of you guys joining the world at large?" He feels he needs to clarify.

"Shadow World?"

"Shadowhunters and Downworlders."

"Ah, that's smart." Alec nods again, smiling at Magnus in a way that makes stomach turn not unpleasantly. "And yes, that is my plan. So, Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, my romantic soulmate, will you help me."

How could Magnus say no to a face like that?


End file.
